Some people seem to be born to disrupt the rules of life; those same rules that make life resemble the side stories of old magazines and the visual narratives of faded pictures on tweets, posts, and stories of new people; life in the narrow alleys.
Ahmad Nourizadeh, the defenseless boy of Metropol Street, the distinguished man of Iranian and Armenian culture, the elderly recluse of Kahrizak shelter, was one of those people. How he endured such suffering and deprivation, how he fought against hardships and overcame all obstacles, and how he soared his soul into the flight of poetry and speech, only to fall back to the ground and shatter into pieces, is a tragedy even more bitter than a tragedy. You would say that this Ahmad is not our contemporary, but a defenseless fairy in the realm of myths who soars with suffering and without any favor from the grasping gods, pulls his frail soul out of the valley of darkness. But he has not yet taken a sip from the cup of fortune and has not achieved the success of enlightenment. With the venomous spear of the demon of diseases, he sews himself onto the wall of the world so that after days and weeks and months of suffering, his thin life can come to an end.
Death is a rule, and there is no refuge on its path. What shakes the champion and prevails over him is his clear choice between fighting and not fighting. The defenseless boy of Metropol Street chose to fight. And that’s all there is to him.
َArvin Ilbeigi
